Page 60 of One Last Shot

I roll over to find a note on my nightstand.

I am taking Stella to school—didn’t want to wake you. Then I’m off to practice and a media event and will be home midafternoon. Text me if you have a busy day and want me to pick Stella up from school. Also, don’t forget Tom and Avery are coming over for dinner tonight.

I glance up at the clock.Shit!

I fly out of bed so fast I almost levitate. I forgot to set my alarm last night, and I have a meeting in Brooklyn in half an hour to go over decorating the rooftop I’ve rented for Aleksandr’s end of season party with the rental company that will be supplying the decor. Even if I walked out the door right now, which I can’t do because I’m naked, there’s no way I could make it there in time. I shoot off a text to the building manager and my contact at the rental company letting them know I’m going to be late, and asking them to start measuring the space and getting any other details they need while they wait for me to get there. Then I order a ride and give myself the ten minutes until they arrive to get dressed and ready, all the while reminding myself that it’s not Aleksandr’s fault for not waking me.

* * *

When I walk back into the apartment at 6:30 p.m., I’m in a mood. It’s been a long day, the kind where everything that could possibly go wrong has gone wrong.

“There you are,” Aleksandr says, walking into the entryway as I’m setting my bag down on the large bench that sits against the wall. He takes one look at me, all sweaty and disheveled because I didn’t check the weather and dressed way too warmly for this spring day, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

I remind myself again that it’s not his fault I overslept. I’m a big girl and can be responsible for setting my own alarm. But if he’d just woken me up before he left, this day would have been very different. Or if I just hadn’t slept with him last night, I’d have woken up well-rested and ready to take on the world. The thought that’s been running through my mind most of the day returns—getting involved with him in this way was a mistake.

“It’s been a day.”

His face softens. “Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Doubtful.” I’m not pouting exactly, but I’m also glancing into my bag like I’m looking for something, so I don’t have to meet his eye. I’m afraid he’d see right through me—through the bravado and the success, and find someone who’s actually just barely holding it all together.

“How about if I make you a drink while you hop in the shower? Tom and Avery will be here in an hour.”

I try not to physically deflate at the mention of having company tonight. I completely forgot, and I don’t feel up to that at all, even though of course I’d love to see Avery again. I feel like she’s the kind of person I could be friends with—real, unassuming, fun—if I were staying in New York.But you’re not, I remind myself.

It’s a well-timed reminder because Aleksandr wraps his arms around me, giving me the supportive hug he somehow knows I need. I rest my head on his shoulder, thinking how easy and natural things feel with him when we’re not fighting. Though even the fighting feels like foreplay. And yet, this is all temporary. It has to be. I have a life and career back in Park City and a talk show that’s supposed to start in LA soon. I can’t stay, even if I wanted to.

But I don’t, right?

“What’s wrong?” I hear Stella’s voice and open my eyes to see her standing behind Sasha.

“Nothing,” I tell her, thinking that she must have seen my emotions flashing across my face. If I don’t intentionally guard myself, my face shows everything I’m feeling. “I just had a bad day and needed a hug.” I step back and Sasha’s arms fall to his side, then I take a few steps past him toward Stella. “It helped, but maybe I need one from you too?”

She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes as hard as she can, and I glance over my shoulder at Sasha. He’s standing there with his hand on the back of his neck, his button-down shirt rolled up at his elbows and pulling tightly across his chest and shoulders, and another unreadable expression on his face.

I glance back down at Stella. “I have to go hop in the shower and get ready for dinner.”

“Why do you have to get ready for dinner?” she asks.

“Because I had a rough day and feel gross, and I want to shower and start all over.”

Her eyes light up like the thought never occurred to her that a shower could have the power to wash away a bad day and let you start fresh. “That’s a good idea,” she says. “Maybe I should take a shower and wash away my day too.”

“You had a bad day?” I ask.

She nods and I take her hand. “Come tell me about it while I pick out something to wear tonight, then we’ll both take our showers and wash the ickiness away, okay?”

We head down the hall together, hand in hand, and I let her tell me about all the things that went wrong in her day: she didn’t get to sit next to Harper during circle time, she struggled with subtraction at one of her math stations, Jason got her out during dodgeball in PE, and their music teacher was sick so they had to watch a boring video with a substitute instead. I’m reminded of what I’ve heard so many parents say:little people, little problems.But they are big problems to her, and I’m glad this is the stuff she’s focused on instead of worrying about things like how her uncle will manage to adopt her.

I’ve just stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around me when my phone buzzes rapid-fire on the counter. I pick it up to see several messages from Sierra. I do the math and realize it must be close to midnight in Europe, which is where I think she is right now.

Sierra:Beau was just catching up on the playoff games from the last few days. He paused during the New York/Philadelphia game and was like “Is that Petra?”

Sierra:Imagine my surprise to see you at a game in New York, wearing a player’s jersey and giving him fuck-me eyes on national television?!?!

Sierra:What the hell is going on, and whose kid were you holding?

Oh shit. Well, this is going to be hard to explain.

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